Chapter 11
Deanna
The Smelter Grill sat on Main Street, its log cabin exterior next to the neon bar signs of the Mint Bar and the Blasting Cap, reminders of Anaconda’s mining heritage. The steakhouse offered a blessed reprieve from the smoke and chaos.
Ace, Kylie, and Colton had claimed a corner booth under a mounted elk head whose glass eyes seemed to track their conversation.
As Deanna approached, she observed the contrast between Ace and Kylie.
He radiated exuberance, his hands gesturing as he talked, while Kylie listened intently, savoring every detail.
It was rather endearing.
Deanna had showered and washed her hair twice to get the smoke out.
She put on her one nice outfit, jeans that weren’t work-worn, and a form-fitting tee Colton said matched her blue eyes.
She slid into the booth next to him. Her cleanup efforts paid off when he flashed her his brilliant smile with lifted brows, showing his satisfaction with the results.
His rugged looks sent a wave of heat through her. The upside of sitting close allowed her to breathe him in. Who would’ve thought hotel soap and shampoo could smell this delectable?
Dang, he’s hot.
“About time.” Ace smelled of aftershave and leather. “We almost ordered without you.”
“Some of us actually work for a living,” teased Deanna.
Colton found her thigh under the table and gave it a squeeze. She gasped, and Kylie gave her a weird look.
Deanna coughed intentionally, patting her chest. “Choked on something. Need a sip of water.”
Kylie glanced at Colton, then gave Deanna a sly, knowing look.
Ace rolled his beer bottle between his palms. “Kylie told me about the water truck. Has anyone figured out what happened?”
Kylie’s fingers traced patterns on the condensation of her water glass. “Sugar in the tanker fuel and sugar in the vehicle tanks screams sabotage. They must be doing it during crew changes when base camp is busy and chaotic.”
“Not kids doing pranks. Someone who knows our routines.” Deanna tried to focus on the conversation instead of Colton’s palm sliding up and down her thigh.
“Right?” Kylie sipped her water. “Someone wants to cause problems for all of us. The question is why.”
Their conversation broke off when the server appeared. The routine of choosing food and appetizers seemed surreal after the day they’d had.
“Keep an eye on this guy.” Colton dipped his head toward Ace, then winked at Kylie. “He embroiders his stories about all his near misses.”
“Hey, I do not. That stuff really happens,” protested Ace. “Don’t listen to him.”
“So, how did this happen?” asked Colton, gesturing between Ace and Kylie as the server set down two delicious-smelling plates of Chicken-in-the-Rough. “Did Ace win you over with his suave and debonair charm?”
Pink climbed above Ace’s collar. “She dragged me out of a burning plane, dude. No sense in wasting time showing her my gratitude.”
“He’s right. Wasted no time asking for my number while I checked him for a concussion.” Kylie’s lips twitched. “Blood running down his face, one eye swollen, and he hits me with, ‘Can I take you to dinner when I can see out of both eyes?’”
“Timing is everything in aviation,” said Ace, unrepentant.
Kylie pointed her thumb at him. “Then he texts me nonstop from the hospital. One was a selfie attached to his IV drip captioned, ‘thinking of you.’” Kylie’s fingers laced through Ace’s across the table. “The nurse told him to stop raising his heart rate.”
Colton cleared his throat. “Jeez, Ace, I told you to give this woman a break.”
Ace offered a not-my-fault shrug.
“Once they discharged him, he showed up at the jump shack with coffee and muffins,” continued Kylie. “Rooster threatened to put him to work repairing jumper gear if he kept hanging around.”
Ace spread his arms. “I was being neighborly.”
“So, one morning he brings a muffin with a note saying, ‘One date. If it’s terrible, I’ll stop bringing muffins.’” Kylie shrugged. “I couldn’t lose the muffins. They were huckleberry.”
Deanna laughed. “So, your togetherness is based on baked goods and head trauma?”
“The foundation of every great romance,” said Ace with mock solemnity.
“And you said yes to this man?” Deanna shook her head, smiling.
Kylie held her hands up. “He wore me down, like erosion. But with worse pickup lines.”
Colton’s pager went off, the shrill beep cutting through the restaurant’s ambient noise. He glanced at it. “New start at Bunker Creek. Winds pushed it over the containment line. So much for dinner.” Colton pushed himself to his feet, reaching for his wallet.
“Go on ahead. I’ll handle the check.” Disappointment tugged at her, but Deanna kept her voice even.
Colton gave her a peck on the cheek. “I promise to pay you back.”
“Yeah, I’ll be worrying about it,” she said. “Be safe up there, Sky King.”
“Yep. Thanks, smokejumper chick.” He flashed a wink as he dashed out the door.
“I still feel beat to shit.” Ace winced as he got to his feet.
Kylie stood to help him. “Come on, champ. We need to get you to your hotel room. You shouldn’t be moving around this much.”
“See, she’s my angel of mercy,” teased Ace, as he let her lead him out the door.
“See you later, Dee.” Kylie gave her a wave over her shoulder.
Deanna glanced down at Colton’s untouched entrée and asked the server to box it up.
“They’re saying the fire might jump the interstate,” said the server. “My husband’s on the fireline, too.”
“Don’t worry, his training will keep him safe.” Deanna’s chest knotted as she said it. “And firefighters take care of each other.”
How do others live with constant fear for their husbands and boyfriends with dangerous jobs like theirs?
She collected the food and headed to the Forest Service pickup she’d signed out.
Back in the tent she shared with Kylie, Deanna sat on her narrow cot and scrolled through her messages. A text from Colton: Making a drop before dark. Thanks for understanding.
She texted back: Have a good one. Your chicken dinner is in the cafeteria fridge.
She almost typed Love, Deanna, then caught herself. They were nowhere near that, were they? She shoved the notion away.
Curious, she opened social media and searched for the Aurora Crew members. Tara’s page ran heavy on fire content: crew photos, fire updates, the occasional picture with Ryan on an Alaskan wildfire. The rest of the crew had the same.
Dread poked Deanna as she closed the app and lay back on the cot. Tomorrow, she’d face the women who’d seen her at her absolute worst, who’d made jokes about her inappropriate behavior, and who’d celebrated when she’d demobilized.
The memory of Tara’s cool assessment from their time fighting fires in Alaska still echoed: Some people aren’t cut out for this work.
Deanna had a choice. Take the bull by the horns and prove she’d left her old self in the dust or do her own thing and minimize her dealings with them. Sleep wouldn’t come, so she dug out the tiny notebook and pen she kept in her pack for fire notes. She flipped to a blank page and clicked her pen.
“Man-Eaters Anonymous,” she wrote across the top, then underlined it twice. She wrote her steps out in cursive.
Step 1: Admit you’ve been a raging disaster in every relationship you’ve ever touched.
Step 2: Stop blaming your actions on daddy issues, trust issues, and your chicken-shit commitment issues. You’re a grown woman. Own the wreckage.
Step 3: When you meet a good man, don’t sabotage it. Repeat: Do. Not. Sabotage! Be yourself.
Step 4: Apologize to those you’ve hurt, even the ones who’d rather toss you from a plane without a parachute.
Step 5: Accept that you deserve to be loved without stealing it from someone else.
Deanna stared at the list. Simple enough on paper. The pen trembled in her fingers, and her vision blurred. She tore the page out, folded it twice, and tucked it into the pocket of her Nomex pants hanging on the tent post.
Steps One and Two were the easy ones. She’d acknowledged her wicked behavior long ago. Steps Three, Four, and Five would prove a challenge, especially Step Four.
Apologize? You’ve got to be kidding.
Deanna poised her pen to cross it out when her conscience stopped her. Whether or not she liked it, she owed apologies. She’d rather gnaw off her arm, but it had to be done. Make things right.
After all, she had Colton now, and a job she excelled at. Maybe not like Tara or Raynie, but she shouldn’t compare herself to them. Dad always said comparing yourself to others amounted to a losing proposition.
Her phone buzzed, and she tapped her screen. Another text from Colton: Thinking of you. Wish I were there instead of here.
A smile broke out, despite everything. Today, a kind and gorgeous tanker pilot thought about her while fighting a fire. And that mattered.
She texted: Me, too. Fly safe.
His response came at once: Always.
She traced his reply with her finger.
Outside her tent, vehicles mobilized the fire crews heading out to the new fire, diesel engines rumbling and radios crackling.
Somewhere among them rode the Aurora Hotshots, including the women who knew her failures.
They didn’t know the new Deanna. She had set a fresh course and was sticking to it.
Sleep remained stubbornly out of reach as her thoughts taxied in every direction at once. She remembered a social media meme comparing the female brain to an aircraft instrument panel with hundreds of knobs, switches, and blinking lights. The male version had two controls and an off switch.
Sounds about right.
Judging by tonight, her brain didn’t have the off button feature.
Deanna lay awake, staring at the canvas ceiling above her cot, wondering if salvation was truly real or only existed in a feel-good movie.
Through the tent flap, the never-ending glow on the horizon promised more firefights.
The drone of rotors cutting through smoke-obscured sky pulled the past to the present.
A memory surfaced of Raynie saying, “At least when Brooks is gone, we can stop locking our tents to keep her from crawling into sleeping bags with our boyfriends.” Laughter had followed.
Deanna rolled onto her side and pulled the pillow over her head to muffle the constant rotors. Morning would come whether or not she was ready.
And with it, facing the regrets she’d left in Alaska.